At the stroke of midnight, April 22, I found myself spending my 25th birthday at an Irish Pub in Warsaw, Poland. Our small table in the very back corner was hidden from the direct view of many other people in the bar and smoke filled the room to a stifling extent. The band was upfront out of view, but we could clearly hear the 80’s cover songs and Polish rock anthems that everyone joyously sang, making me feel like a complete outsider because our table was the only one not belting the lyrics with ecstatic expressions on our faces. I took a drink of my warm, flattened beer and looked up to see a couple sitting at the table next to us, the girl crying so violently that I though she would probably pass out at any moment.
The whole combination – loud Polish anthems, crying girls, thick smoke and warm beer – made me realize how truly strange that exact moment was for me. Uncathartic and bizarre, I seemed to go dizzy, time stopped, and realized that the situation I was in at that exact moment was nothing at all like I had planned. I guess it always is that way, but on a day that is so important, the desire to have things go right is always a secret wish. The music seemed to get louder and more Polish, the crowd more excitable and my desire to change something about what was happening became more pronounced.
Time continued on again and we left finding ourselves at an overly packed hookah bar, filled with musky smelling men and dark haired women from exotic middle eastern places. Loud Arabic music and packed bottle service tables with large hookahs were all around. It still was running slow in my mind and trying to just find a place to sit for a moment, I found myself at a large table in the back.
“It’s my birthday today!” says the stout blonde man next to me. I clarify that it is my birthday as well and of course I am invited to stay at the table, bottles of vodka, 50 year old cognacs, and pitchers of wine are strung about the table. Large, smoky hookahs dot the way down. I grab my glass, we do a toast and I find myself surrounded by a very strange crowd. Sitting next to me, is the general manager of a luxury hotel chain in eastern Europe, across from me is the Ambassador to Poland from Azerbaijan, next to him the owner of the nightclub, to my far right is the son of a Saudi Arabian banking tycoon and kitty corner next to me is the owner of the producer of those 50 year old bottles of cognac on our table. I didn’t hold much conversation, but rather observed and stayed in the comfort of the corner filled with brightly covered pillows and free flowing screwdrivers.
The next day was spent battling a fierce hangover coupled with a burning cold that left me almost incapacitated. My birthday was spent sick, trying to walk, sleeping uncomfortably and intermittently on a six hour train ride back to Berlin.
The whole combination – loud Polish anthems, crying girls, thick smoke and warm beer – made me realize how truly strange that exact moment was for me. Uncathartic and bizarre, I seemed to go dizzy, time stopped, and realized that the situation I was in at that exact moment was nothing at all like I had planned. I guess it always is that way, but on a day that is so important, the desire to have things go right is always a secret wish. The music seemed to get louder and more Polish, the crowd more excitable and my desire to change something about what was happening became more pronounced.
Time continued on again and we left finding ourselves at an overly packed hookah bar, filled with musky smelling men and dark haired women from exotic middle eastern places. Loud Arabic music and packed bottle service tables with large hookahs were all around. It still was running slow in my mind and trying to just find a place to sit for a moment, I found myself at a large table in the back.
“It’s my birthday today!” says the stout blonde man next to me. I clarify that it is my birthday as well and of course I am invited to stay at the table, bottles of vodka, 50 year old cognacs, and pitchers of wine are strung about the table. Large, smoky hookahs dot the way down. I grab my glass, we do a toast and I find myself surrounded by a very strange crowd. Sitting next to me, is the general manager of a luxury hotel chain in eastern Europe, across from me is the Ambassador to Poland from Azerbaijan, next to him the owner of the nightclub, to my far right is the son of a Saudi Arabian banking tycoon and kitty corner next to me is the owner of the producer of those 50 year old bottles of cognac on our table. I didn’t hold much conversation, but rather observed and stayed in the comfort of the corner filled with brightly covered pillows and free flowing screwdrivers.
The next day was spent battling a fierce hangover coupled with a burning cold that left me almost incapacitated. My birthday was spent sick, trying to walk, sleeping uncomfortably and intermittently on a six hour train ride back to Berlin.
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